tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-81155047856084211162024-02-21T00:53:47.952-07:00 Mayan Games<br>
A little bit about
<br>
Maya, a dog;
<br>
her adventures,
<br>
her self,
<br>
and our continuing efforts
<br>
to help her live with joy.Unknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger80125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8115504785608421116.post-970185075500138372015-05-14T12:54:00.000-06:002015-05-14T21:30:59.790-06:00one more timeWhen I met Maya, we were such strangers. Our first attempts at
communication were rudimentary, at best -- Maya seemed not to have any
meaningful experience of living with human beings, and I was just
beginning to discover how overwhelmingly ignorant about dogs I really
was (really, completely, totally, damagingly ignorant).<br />
<br />
On the
second or third day that Maya was home, I pulled out a clicker and some
cheese. I tried to "load" the clicker -- following clicks with little
cubes of cheese. Maya was so overwhelmed that she could barely eat the
cheese. In retrospect, I can see what complete insanity she must have
found those first few days or months...how overwhelming, and scary, and incomprehensible it must have been. With this cheese, she'd take a piece in her soft
puppy mouth and let it dribble out the side and fall to the floor. Her
eyes were huge, her body constantly in restless, overstimulated motion.<br />
<br />
Using
one of those pieces of cheese, I lured her into a quick sit, clicked,
and popped it into her mouth (she swallowed that one, I recall). She
instantly popped up onto all four feet again, so I repeated the process
once or twice. Then waited. Maya sat, maybe randomly, and I clicked
and gave her three pieces of cheese in a row. She danced to her feet
again, and I waited. Then her face stilled for a second,
and she stared into my eyes for a very long time. Thinking so very,
very hard. Ever so slowly, she lowered her back end to the floor and
sat, and I beamed with pleasure, clicked and held more cheese to her
fuzzy lips. Ignoring the cheese, Maya leaped high into the air, her
eyes shining with a look I was seeing for the first time, and let out a
huge, shouting bark of pure joy. Maya had figured out that
communication with a human being was possible.<br />
<br />
Unskilled and uncertain on both our parts at first, Maya and I began a conversation that ended up
lasting her entire lifetime, becoming more nuanced and meaningful with
every moment we were together. We started out so far apart, so anxious and uncomfortable, and we grew together until there was no space between us at all. Maya knew what it
meant when I took a deep breath before standing up, I knew what it
meant when her breath caught for a second and her whiskers tilted
forward...she's react to me standing up before I moved, and I'd react to
her shift of attention before she'd fully processed it. I would reach
my hand out in the dark to feel her sleeping side, and through the palm
of my hand, knew that everything was all right. She'd lean against me
and seem to know the same.<br />
<br />
Paying such close attention
to each other was marvelously rewarding for both of us, I think. It
became something I did consciously and subconsciously, talking with Maya
without words and without always thinking about it. Until Maya died,
quite suddenly, on June 16th, 2014, leaving only a vast and agonizing silence.<br />
<br />
Maya
was sick for only a few days at the end of her life. She'd had a few
bumps and scrapes before that -- a temporary limp from running headlong
into a stone wall, scrapes from plunging through tense thickets, a stomach upset here and there -- but all her worst pains were emotional. Once we worked out how to cushion her from those, she was generally a hardy, healthy, unbreakable, happy dog. Which made the
ending quite surreal, but it is some comfort to know how brief the bad part was.<br />
<br />
She died from an infection her
body could not fight off, even with all the help the veterinary hospital
could offer, because her body had destroyed all its white blood cells.
What caused this bizarre, rare immune disorder, we do not know,
although we suppose it was probably congenital, some genetic time bomb that was lurking the whole time. It came on
fairly suddenly, and by the time we knew what we were dealing with, the destruction was too advanced to stop. I may never
stop wishing that I could have done something more, something different,
something that might have saved her. For months after she died, I choked on unbearable guilt: I would have done anything to save her, and I couldn't.<br />
<br />
If you happen to read this, then there is probably nothing I could say about grief that you don't already know. It is the thing every person who loves a pet shares, at some point. It is impossible, indescribable, unavoidable, endurable. I went only a little bit insane, writing irrational letters to people, chasing the squirrels out of our yard with screams of fury because I could not stand the deafening silence they provoked. Last summer was immense blank misery, with occasional
razor-sharp slices of agonizing, unbearable beauty -- the sunrise turning a whole prairie
golden, even though I squinted against the light to try to see the dog who
should have been there with me; red rock mesas on a drive south stark against bluest skies; the anchor-weight of my last little rat friend sleeping warmly in the palm of my hand. Out in the world, I struggled to comprehend what people said to me, my head full of fog and dull amazement that they somehow mistook me for functional.<br />
<br />
And then time passes, and it doesn't hurt as much to breathe. It snowed and there were no fresh dog tracks in the yard, and the stab of pain stood out the way that beautiful moments had some months before, and I realized that life was sliding back into its normal dimensions. And I was glad of it, mostly.<br />
<br />
At various times, I tried to write something about Maya's death. I wrote a few scraps, a howl of despair, a clinical examination of events, some precious memories. I could never finish any of it. Not because I could not write about Maya's death (I could). Not because I could not write about Maya's life (there are not enough words in the world to even begin to tell that story). But because I have lived with this great silence for almost a year now, and I still cannot bear to close the conversation: I cannot say goodbye to my friend.<br />
<br />
Instead, I think of impossibilities. I would give anything to say hello again
to her just one more time. One more chance to feel her soft ears, once
more hike into the hills, one more long and wordless look. If I could, I
would adopt Maya from the shelter one more time tomorrow -- a scared,
seven months old, big-eared, big-hearted brown dog, and I would do every
bit of it over again. Even the awful parts. Even the end.<br />
<br />
Maya liked to be close to me. She liked to lie
nearby on the floor, and then roll over onto her back and stare at me
upside-down. Her face looked very silly from this position, and I'd
laugh at her, and she would wag her whole body. This had the effect of
moving her, worm-like, across the floor until she could squirm on top of
my feet, still upside-down so that the sharp ridges of her spine
pressed painfully into the tops of my feet. It was a good way of
getting my attention, and a good way of getting a belly rub, and just a
good thing to do. I liked to be close to her too.<br />
<br />
She was fierce, brilliant, hilarious, and marvelous. She was mine, and I am hers forever. She liked to lie in patches of
sunshine, even when it made her overheat to a ridiculous degree. She
liked to daydream that I'd someday give her a rat to eat, even after
she'd learned to ignore them 99% of the time. She liked it when I'd
throw my gardening gloves for her to fetch, because I'd actually gone
outside to do yard work and hadn't brought a proper toy, but was never
able to resist her bright eyes and wiggly invitations to play. She
liked to run in huge looping circles, and eat snow, and she never did
really learn what to think of water, and never did trust a single stranger. She liked hiking, loved us, lived a whole life, and when I opened my eyes in the morning her whole body trembled with joy. <br />
<br />
Thanks for everything, Maya. I had the greatest time.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8115504785608421116.post-45916267756384702672014-04-16T16:06:00.000-06:002014-04-16T16:06:00.119-06:00catching upWhat has Maya been up to recently?<br />
<br />
Hiking, of course. We even found some secret places where she can run off-leash, exploring and sniffing to her heart's content.<br />
<br />
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<br />
But I'm being careful about her off-leash time, because about twenty minutes after I took the above photo, we came across a mountain lion cache -- most of a deer that had been dragged to the base of a tree and partially buried. I don't know if the lion was nearby, but every hair on Maya's body stood up and she looked utterly terrified, so I guess there was at least quite a bit of scent around. We left in a hurry, trying to look large and confident, just in case. I am used to hiking in lion country, but finding a large dead animal right beside the trail is still kind of thought-provoking.<br />
<br />
Once Maya relaxed, I relaxed too. This may be one reason people and dogs got together in the first place -- dogs are good at detecting scary things, and thus make us feel safer. In return, people have been known to share lunch sometimes.<br />
<br />
This is the face of a dog who knows I <i>always</i> share my hiking lunches. <br />
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<br />
My summer project is to teach Maya how to swim. She does seem to have a grasp of the basics -- find water, fall in, get really excited -- but her experience is limited. Once the lakes in the mountains thaw out, we're going to see what can be done, but in the meantime, a little wading is a good way to get started.<br />
<br />
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<br />
After wading, she gets post-bath zoomies.<br />
<br />
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<br />
Our walks around town have been nice too, but I rarely take a camera. When we first moved here, I was a little concerned that the extra density of people and dogs would make walks more challenging for Maya, but it turns out there are plenty of open spaces that are big enough to share. In fact, I think I'm enjoying our walks more than ever -- they are full of things that are interesting to both human and canine, and have offered a terrific mix of relaxation and training opportunities.<br />
<br />
Maya did have a tough time for the first couple of months after the move, with some behavioral regression (separation distress, noise sensitivity, generalized anxiety, hypervigilance...all things we've experienced in the past, but that hadn't manifested in quite a while). I wasn't surprised by it, but I was a little concerned by how long it took her to bounce back.<br />
<br />
She's back to normal now, but it helped motivate me to find a nice vet and get a fluoxetine (prozac) prescription, just to see if we can give Maya a better buffer against life's rough patches. Behavioral meds are something I've wanted to try for a while, and I'm happy to finally find a cooperative vet, and one with a lot of compassion for fearful dogs. Maya was less excited about the visit, but conducted herself well -- she ate treats throughout, and the vet wrote up a little summary of our visit that starts, "Maya was a very brave girl today!"<br />
<br />
The very brave girl surveys her backyard.<br />
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<br />
So I guess we're settling in, hanging out, and having a good time. And before long, it will be summer!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8115504785608421116.post-752751098153784602013-12-31T17:59:00.000-07:002013-12-31T21:33:57.898-07:00the recovering reactive dogWe recently moved, and while talking to someone on the phone, I mentioned that Maya hasn't been out for a walk in the past week. The person was shocked -- dogs need walks! And besides, they added, "haven't you trained Maya out of that?"<br />
<br />
"That" was reactivity, or anxiety, I guess. Which I've never claimed to have eliminated with training, but it's a common expectation. People expect training to effect cures, otherwise what's the point? And besides, stories of marvelous behavior reversals abound.<br />
<br />
When you are beginning the complicated task of living with a "dog with issues," inspirational stories probably help with motivation. Stories about dogs who had serious behavior challenges, but who were helped with training, time, treats, love, medication, and so forth, and are now normal. It is very encouraging to think that all your hard work will pay off with a cured dog.<br />
<br />
If I crack open the pages of any of my numerous books
about reactive/fearful/aggressive dogs, or go online, I can find half a dozen similar
stories at my fingertips. The details change, of
course, because these are largely true stories. People really do adopt
dogs with issues and then find ways to help the dogs function normally. Sometimes, the dogs even go on to do therapy work, help a special child, win blue ribbons, or other heartwarming and remarkable achievements. Their stories get told because they are inspiring, because they
are often beautiful, and because we love a story with a happy ending. <br />
<br />
I
love a happy ending too, but I have come to distrust this story. Because if these are the only stories we tell about "dogs
with issues," we are being neither fair nor truthful. And if a
total cure is the only outcome that we understand as a success, many of
us are doomed to perpetual failure. I have owned Maya for four and a half years, and spent much of that time trying hard to help her feel
safer in the world, but she is far from being cured. Maya can walk down a quiet residential street and appear "normal," she cannot walk up to a stranger and sniff them while giving the same impression.<br />
<br />
I suppose it's possible that I really have failed, and am trying to make excuses...that I am simply not the trainer Maya needs, and that with someone else she would be cured. It has also been suggested to me that Maya is a particularly
challenging dog, a suggestion with at least a sliver of truth. Mostly, I think it's
just that real life is a lot more complicated than the simple "cure"
narrative: there is more than one kind of journey that we take with our "dogs with issues."<br />
<br />
Maya will never be a therapy dog, help any children, win ribbons, or otherwise fit into an inspiring narrative. She may not ever be comfortable greeting strangers, or making new friends, but she's still a very loved dog. She is currently curled up in a ball with her nose pressed firmly against her anus, which I'm certain is a happy ending by any canine standard.<br />
<br />
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<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">And, for the record, Maya will get to go out for walks soon enough. She has a huge yard, things to chase, things to chew, and an entire new house to explore: her need for exploration, exercise, and novelty are likely being met in full, without outings. Walks can wait until her confidence rebounds and she is ready to handle a little more.</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8115504785608421116.post-39935667296356396712013-12-18T13:55:00.000-07:002013-12-18T13:55:55.074-07:00it's not all smiles<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
Maya's primary emotions: happiness, worry, curiosity, and wanting me to throw it <i>right now</i>.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8115504785608421116.post-82519751773792461002013-11-15T12:04:00.000-07:002013-11-15T12:04:29.470-07:00chilly morning walk<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8115504785608421116.post-58349633403981907712013-10-23T15:24:00.000-06:002013-10-23T15:24:11.880-06:00I hope there are cookies in Mordor<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8115504785608421116.post-81872274778287411422013-10-14T09:09:00.001-06:002013-10-14T09:09:59.858-06:00fall<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8115504785608421116.post-15344975847407521982013-08-08T16:23:00.000-06:002013-08-08T16:23:36.000-06:00trustAll relationships require trust. I think that it is futile to try to change the behavior of our dogs without building a trusting relationship with them, and I think it is essential that we form trusting relationships with the people helping us with our dogs too. <br />
<br />
At an event a few weeks ago, a friend presented information about helping reactive dogs. I attended (and assisted), and answered some questions during the seminar, so several people approached me afterward to chat. Some of these people were looking for training advice, some were trying to understand the material better, some were just wondering how I got involved. I did my best to refer, elucidate, and answer what I could.<br />
<br />
I like meeting other people who own reactive dogs. It is often affirming, usually interesting. One person in particular reminded of myself (some years back) as she told me, with tears standing in her eyes, that this seminar had finally made her feel hopeful about her own dog. I understand how much it hurts to have your heart bound up in an animal who seems likely to shatter under the slightest pressure.<br />
<br />
Since she was asking me questions about finding a professional trainer, I took her over to a trainer I knew in the room. I wanted to make sure she got an in-person introduction so they could see if they hit it off, and so that she'd be more motivated to give the trainer a call in the future. And then I did a really stupid thing.<br />
<br />
When I introduced them, I tried to give the woman a little compliment. It was meant to be clever, but came out awkwardly, something about how I wanted to introduce them because my trainer friend "deserves good clients." Or maybe I said "fun clients," yikes...that's even worse. And instantly, I knew I'd blown it. Because the introduction wasn't about the trainer's needs, it was about the very real needs of this woman, but I'd framed it all wrong. Worse, I'd made it sound like we were evaluating her for "good client" status (or entertainment value)...not the reassurance or empathy she needed, in her obviously sensitive state.<br />
<br />
The first time a trainer betrayed my trust, I waited a year and a half
before contacting another one...not wasted time, but time that could
have been better spent. Come to think of it, that trainer called me "fun" too. I hope I didn't do something similar to this woman, rendered vulnerable by her love for her dog. I wish I had her contact info so that I could make a better attempt...I apologized in the moment, but the whole conversation got off on the wrong foot as a result, and I don't know what her take-away emotion was. Probably mixed, at best, which may just be inevitable sometimes.<br />
<br />
Owning a dog with serious behavior challenges is hard. Not everyone ends up nakedly fragile along the way, but a good number of us do. I never forget that, but I wish I had a more nimble way with words when it came to actually talking to people. Or maybe I just wish that when I opened my mouth, my first instinct was to try to sound kind, rather than trying to sound clever. <br />
<br />
Oh well. Nothing to be done right now except learn from the experience. It's not like I don't live with a daily reminder that mistakes are an inevitable part of learning. Or, in Maya's case, something cute you can do for the camera.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRsWWlpn93l0VNjNPKES_sbkKeEbqGGo_nqP_vCZIWtIvPO6Lxz6l_wH5-6Nc7lZMC78Fmo8FZxsDVJYIEO7ovu0wxNif9oQjOjYazrLDA8HlgA1skHHd-eNMs_j52N8T2c40cY8-KaDvA/s1600/IMG_6409.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="292" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRsWWlpn93l0VNjNPKES_sbkKeEbqGGo_nqP_vCZIWtIvPO6Lxz6l_wH5-6Nc7lZMC78Fmo8FZxsDVJYIEO7ovu0wxNif9oQjOjYazrLDA8HlgA1skHHd-eNMs_j52N8T2c40cY8-KaDvA/s400/IMG_6409.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Under?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8b-gaXPoVFHZNdeDfnaoneFSDv812MHzunWovVwWxZtUswraZQBuFY6JZ0DWaBopWMjj4rRjVNyKmmaWhHvnBhy6CW-Pto0-p6QDSydeSBqQm4IbXZWzhpzcR9oeLITLZtmgFAdmkYsRE/s1600/IMG_6410.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="307" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8b-gaXPoVFHZNdeDfnaoneFSDv812MHzunWovVwWxZtUswraZQBuFY6JZ0DWaBopWMjj4rRjVNyKmmaWhHvnBhy6CW-Pto0-p6QDSydeSBqQm4IbXZWzhpzcR9oeLITLZtmgFAdmkYsRE/s400/IMG_6410.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Edible?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQTNEfQaAOK5Xtfa3wzOnBuYh6Rgblsuqs2Rb1vgssHwO4YOFnRpKzwkDDrqE-RB-3_-y_bwWsPtBRvPJgkZsHdZ1TfKN_hb_Zs8CeeHCCUBLjzWmtbxmXtiUW9mWu8CZL5wsstJC0r5W5/s1600/IMG_6413.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="296" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQTNEfQaAOK5Xtfa3wzOnBuYh6Rgblsuqs2Rb1vgssHwO4YOFnRpKzwkDDrqE-RB-3_-y_bwWsPtBRvPJgkZsHdZ1TfKN_hb_Zs8CeeHCCUBLjzWmtbxmXtiUW9mWu8CZL5wsstJC0r5W5/s400/IMG_6413.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Irrelevant?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikZ1NUlKp3fn3eLOjXjwsaK3mUDbyH8BBFZ8ZxO4ZoAhQD8Bc21nIP5PsQmpGIwRkEJpKdpomvxFFEZlVp0a8U-0-F2gugh43hYNFMwAxStSpc1MaYHOYZcuCFsO6GuV-B9eQObF1lAK4M/s1600/IMG_6414.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="306" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikZ1NUlKp3fn3eLOjXjwsaK3mUDbyH8BBFZ8ZxO4ZoAhQD8Bc21nIP5PsQmpGIwRkEJpKdpomvxFFEZlVp0a8U-0-F2gugh43hYNFMwAxStSpc1MaYHOYZcuCFsO6GuV-B9eQObF1lAK4M/s400/IMG_6414.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> Am I getting closer?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1OqK5l81Uo-zw3BalXxfKJya2CjFmGoJtH81kfRVFx1yMVaCIL6b5bmYbwiHRYFv0Tgi5IK4ozWSg12uKzjCJG1XK-BUnnJhgUJJN4V9awpoh0R6Qlyh1AXudBelABcFfPdxrhA1Ld2mP/s1600/IMG_6415.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="310" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1OqK5l81Uo-zw3BalXxfKJya2CjFmGoJtH81kfRVFx1yMVaCIL6b5bmYbwiHRYFv0Tgi5IK4ozWSg12uKzjCJG1XK-BUnnJhgUJJN4V9awpoh0R6Qlyh1AXudBelABcFfPdxrhA1Ld2mP/s400/IMG_6415.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ta-da.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8115504785608421116.post-28191522309544856892013-04-10T10:02:00.000-06:002013-04-10T10:02:15.865-06:00a dog for all seasonsThis was Maya on Monday:<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7ywcjCxtwnQwkK0ZvLj1MzC-ydnmwAJ2tGSPGxIGZ2Mqs8SRHJDm7Lgk-p0Uk-dTPWdmd35LV5mBucSjNL0suyguOmlUwwvT1D9KNhtX_ydfYMdHkRjiRbHw26b_PzGA6pSPqJoyuEEdV/s1600/IMG_0205.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="308" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7ywcjCxtwnQwkK0ZvLj1MzC-ydnmwAJ2tGSPGxIGZ2Mqs8SRHJDm7Lgk-p0Uk-dTPWdmd35LV5mBucSjNL0suyguOmlUwwvT1D9KNhtX_ydfYMdHkRjiRbHw26b_PzGA6pSPqJoyuEEdV/s400/IMG_0205.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
And this was Maya this morning:<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwtj9QJCYBzyGEkmB-CvRvrG5w2FOJXa3zWu6ODI3CsTtX4YNT2eQsgFGYr6HxXsrDG3ad2CoMYC0mZZvG2gITQGWaAg7NqDVjR7GHZz5xdT_xVUiPNlSW10j91jfUGUNzLE0m3MOHT99M/s1600/IMG_0244.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwtj9QJCYBzyGEkmB-CvRvrG5w2FOJXa3zWu6ODI3CsTtX4YNT2eQsgFGYr6HxXsrDG3ad2CoMYC0mZZvG2gITQGWaAg7NqDVjR7GHZz5xdT_xVUiPNlSW10j91jfUGUNzLE0m3MOHT99M/s400/IMG_0244.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<br />
Maya is a happy girl in any season, but especially so if I am outside goofing around with her.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8115504785608421116.post-13917318224924106422013-02-04T08:32:00.002-07:002013-02-04T08:32:46.647-07:00Monday Maya<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDa912jXq0RgMost5o_R2-41OT4ncBZJr1b3lbx4CkibXMkRign2tjd4CqdZimOUB5KiEKQrqhelKtLDU1lr30Bw-wnDlnyo_CnGfTn3lxocfYDhp_kLE74dfjwCGFJfHZHyzjSTB_ehqS/s1600/IMG_0803.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDa912jXq0RgMost5o_R2-41OT4ncBZJr1b3lbx4CkibXMkRign2tjd4CqdZimOUB5KiEKQrqhelKtLDU1lr30Bw-wnDlnyo_CnGfTn3lxocfYDhp_kLE74dfjwCGFJfHZHyzjSTB_ehqS/s400/IMG_0803.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8115504785608421116.post-71546159841558031892013-02-02T08:11:00.000-07:002013-02-02T08:11:24.222-07:00relegated to the backseatMaya had a very boring week. That is because I was recovering from a cold, so that all my available energy was caught up with the things I'd let slip while sick. Sometimes, that's how it is -- the endless quest to keep Maya entertained has to take a backseat to other things in life.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://i8.photobucket.com/albums/a16/wildlyns/Maya/PICT9148.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://i8.photobucket.com/albums/a16/wildlyns/Maya/PICT9148.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Here is Maya in an actual backseat.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
But I did do one fun thing last week: I bought a cheap lunge whip at a local feed store, tied a toy to the end of it, and thus made a giant lure toy. The official term is "flirt pole."<br />
<br />
I tried to take some photos of Maya galloping after it, but they all came out like this.<br />
<br />
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<br />
I guess you get the idea. Maya thinks it is wonderful, at least for a few minutes. Then she abruptly loses interest. I have some ideas on why this is, and what I can do to change it, but in the meantime, I'm just working on enjoying those few minutes.<br />
<br />
This is what Maya looks like after she has lost interest. No one can
ever accuse Maya of hiding the way she feels about anything -- she is a wonderfully transparent individual.<br />
<br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8115504785608421116.post-54294361745454284912013-01-14T11:09:00.000-07:002013-01-14T11:09:08.420-07:00sunrise Maya<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7-J64UzZeUg9STx2EGSNg-29mVFnvrUHUTRaPZJGi0o7TFVKKouwRvCQzHqvY61_rqn0ld2AEq7xbAoeeBQqCVOnx0EcHA5rQXJtnM7AOBtz896lOPa47yXgqyE8BmR48mcbHFi2kdwbs/s1600/IMG_0032.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7-J64UzZeUg9STx2EGSNg-29mVFnvrUHUTRaPZJGi0o7TFVKKouwRvCQzHqvY61_rqn0ld2AEq7xbAoeeBQqCVOnx0EcHA5rQXJtnM7AOBtz896lOPa47yXgqyE8BmR48mcbHFi2kdwbs/s400/IMG_0032.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8115504785608421116.post-14169504974667509092013-01-10T12:36:00.001-07:002013-01-10T12:36:23.376-07:00talking to strangersMaya can sometimes eat cookies that strangers toss her way. I should be more specific -- Maya almost never has an issue <i>eating</i> the food, it's just that this particular game runs into some problems, so we only play it sometimes.<br />
<br />
The first problem has to do with distance. Right now, Maya feels comfortable around a stationary human at conversational distances, but not closer than about 8-10 feet while she is sitting or lying down (this is huge progress for Maya, of course). If the person has treats and accidentally drops one inside that zone, Maya will still want to eat it, but going to get it would push her beyond her comfort zone.<br />
<br />
That's not a huge problem, because I can simply walk her away while the decoy recovers the treat. The real problem is that Maya <i>chooses</i> to squirm too close when she knows the person has treats. Maya knows that when I have treats, she can lie at my feet and gaze at me and expect to get her share (I reward this shamelessly). Being a clever dog, Maya has decided to see if this works on scary strangers. This means she zips ahead of me, lies down, and then crawls in a wiggly fashion toward them until she is far too close for her own comfort. This conflict between desire and discomfort produces inner turmoil.<br />
<br />
I have more trouble managing this problem because if I physically stop her, Maya will still crawl forward until her leash is at maximum tightness. Which means that the closer she gets to a scary stranger, the tighter her leash is, which is all kinds of counterproductive. We can avoid that issue by using barriers (strangers feeding Maya through fences or car windows), or by using a mat (giving Maya a target spot at a safe distance), but I think the best solution is to continue to do other things that increase Maya's comfort level at close proximity to people, so that as she wiggles closer she simply feels safer. We're working on it.<br />
<br />
The other problem with the cookies-from-strangers game is the one that actually fascinates me, because it tells me something about my dog that I didn't already know. This problem has to do with barking.<br />
<br />
Maya barks when getting cookies from strangers for three basic reasons: fear, habit, and internal conflict. Fear is what happens when she gets way too close or the decoy does something unexpected, and the barking looks/sounds very aggressive (for lack of a better term). Habitual barking tends to happen when Maya temporarily can't think of something better to do, or when she is walking away from something and has gotten in the habit of tossing one last insult over her shoulder. It tends to be brief and lack emotional investment.<br />
<br />
Internal conflict, such as the situation I describe above where Maya voluntarily crawls too close to the source of her fascination/fear, produces a different kind of barking. It looks and sounds exactly like demand barking (AKA attention barking), which is what dogs do when they are being pushy and trying to get a treat by yelling. Higher in pitch than other barks, but not as high as a panicked scream (such as those Maya emits when she thinks I am going hiking without her), and with a very insistent tone.<br />
Seeing this, a light bulb went off over my head.<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"> </span>OH!</span><br />
<br />
One of the things that has always puzzled me about Maya is that her fear of other people seems to be very profound -- it is incredibly difficult for her to interact with them at all. But she managed to interact with me and Brian pretty much from the beginning, and I saw very few signs of anything like that level of discomfort.<br />
<br />
But Maya spent 3-4 months after coming home barking at us, usually when we were sitting still. At the time, I thought it was attention barking. I had good reasons for doing so! Attention reinforced it, for one thing, and it clearly looked & sounded like attention barking -- it was never, ever threatening. Maya had no impulse control or frustration tolerance, so I thought she was just endlessly screaming for attention (or any reaction, really) from me.<br />
<br />
Now I get it. Maya was conflicted. She desired my presence and my absence (and could cope with neither). She wanted attention but found it difficult to handle. It was almost exactly the same emotional dynamic that underlies the fear/fascination dilemma produced by a stranger with cookies. No wonder it took so long to extinguish, and no wonder none of the recommended means of halting attention barking helped. Everything I did just made Maya more conflicted!<br />
<br />
I love sudden insights. As weird as it may sound, it makes me feel a lot better to see clear signs that Maya was afraid of us. I've always assumed she must have been, but the scarcity of evidence puzzled me. Realizing that the barking had mixed motivations is reassuring, because if Maya can find a way to balance her attraction and fear when it comes to us, then there's even more reason to think that she'll continue to find that balance with other people too, even if the process looks a little different. <br />
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One of these days, getting some treats from a stranger isn't going to be such a big deal. That would be good if my goal were for Maya to make more friends, of course, but what it is really good for is the ultimate ambition that my dog and I both share: more cookies for Maya!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8115504785608421116.post-62825831400290401722013-01-07T22:01:00.001-07:002013-01-07T22:01:26.217-07:00Monday Maya<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiupjjgOpu_0d61mEySO3GPqdOq301wUmpbzrL7JDBgVJ9uT-KXYYW4_w2BiQXIxzQvGa9yUvFhN-CdnkBsoJ26f5MrrzjOQgUu0IhGUE6W6kiNnzq9CMIceGx4z72n6p6icTjdwFzHPDbL/s1600/IMG_1322.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiupjjgOpu_0d61mEySO3GPqdOq301wUmpbzrL7JDBgVJ9uT-KXYYW4_w2BiQXIxzQvGa9yUvFhN-CdnkBsoJ26f5MrrzjOQgUu0IhGUE6W6kiNnzq9CMIceGx4z72n6p6icTjdwFzHPDbL/s400/IMG_1322.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8115504785608421116.post-45833072367062455732012-12-31T10:29:00.001-07:002012-12-31T10:29:49.913-07:00Monday Maya<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="http://i8.photobucket.com/albums/a16/wildlyns/Maya/IMG_1356_zps60039a17.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="316" src="http://i8.photobucket.com/albums/a16/wildlyns/Maya/IMG_1356_zps60039a17.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8115504785608421116.post-86718656885330174522012-12-10T10:45:00.001-07:002012-12-10T10:45:57.044-07:00the little thingsDo you ever just sit and ponder the weird minutiae of your dog's life? I do, obviously, which is why I am thinking about how Maya always runs to the last treat I dropped even if she's sitting by the first. Like this morning, when breakfast was dribbled out in a long trail starting in the sun room (where Maya was sitting), through the dining room, into the living room, and down the hall. Maya sat patiently, her tail swishing against the brick floor, and as soon as I told her to go eat, she bolted for the hallway. Why not start with the pieces of kibble lying within inches of her feet? Or all the bits she had to run over in order to get to the hallway? What makes the last few pieces special?<br />
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I have been getting involved with a local rescue group, albeit in a pretty minor capacity. The group got some dogs with severe fear-based behavior issues a while back and has been struggling with them. I guess I should say that I think there are some really big, really tough questions to be asked about the realities and responsibilities of adopting out dogs with serious behavior challenges. I've contributed to those discussions too, but in the meantime, I am simply trying to provide some support for foster and adoptive caregivers. <br />
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This is one of the things I really wished I had with Maya, at least for the first year: someone who could tell me that everything was going to be okay and then help me learn how to get there, or who could just look at my dog and help me figure her out. This person is usually known as a "trainer," but I didn't find one then (what I did find was an amazing amount of online support -- thanks you guys!). <br />
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I am definitely not a professional trainer, but I figure I am better than nothing (uh, I hope). At the very least, I understand how it can be to have a dog who doesn't show up in most of the books, can't go to see a trainer or cope with one coming to the house, and can just barely function on a day-to-day basis. It's a lot of pressure, a lot of stress, and a lot of isolation. Whether or not having an interested helper is going to make a difference remains to be seen. <br />
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What I do know is that a challenging dog teaches you to pay attention to the little things. The first time the dog can eat in front of you, or the way it holds its breath for a second when you stand up. The first time its tail tentatively curls up to wag in the frigid winter air. I still remember the first time I could get Maya out of our back gate and out for a walk while she maintained some semblance of self-control (almost six months after we got her, if you want a timeline). That was a big thing, but it was built on tens of thousands of tiny moments. Even if having someone to ask for help or celebrate a tiny victory is only a little thing, I am going to hope that it is one of those that matters.<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Maya at the back gate. I was so excited, I took a picture. Then I went inside<span style="font-size: x-small;"> and <span style="font-size: x-small;">cried,<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"> <span style="font-size: x-small;">beca<span style="font-size: x-small;">use even <span style="font-size: x-small;">our vic<span style="font-size: x-small;">tories seemed to underscore how far we still had to go, and how hard we had to work for the most basic <span style="font-size: x-small;">skills. Then I <span style="font-size: x-small;">went online to celebrate, because I really was prou<span style="font-size: x-small;">d</span> of Maya (and myself) <span style="font-size: x-small;">for even making it this far.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8115504785608421116.post-47759799185367822882012-10-24T13:07:00.000-06:002012-10-24T13:07:02.436-06:00!!!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxb3Std8KEW2TIK1ZNWjYEE4gJyf2sq9xeppwNsvDbJE_nR2h8oMCdlnwsHZGjaUmnTrrv48TRCAAHTp0prRtfzoD0unLdbvdAYXE26abI9_TTloo5xglsSd1Sl1JmQA3fG1mErPxmqCb_/s1600/IMG_0720.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxb3Std8KEW2TIK1ZNWjYEE4gJyf2sq9xeppwNsvDbJE_nR2h8oMCdlnwsHZGjaUmnTrrv48TRCAAHTp0prRtfzoD0unLdbvdAYXE26abI9_TTloo5xglsSd1Sl1JmQA3fG1mErPxmqCb_/s400/IMG_0720.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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!!!!!!!!!<br />
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!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8115504785608421116.post-66587076886105348112012-10-19T17:01:00.000-06:002012-10-19T17:01:44.328-06:00cozy<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvNnyTj4kgw2vktNZ-ARybQSwYgatZx3ROjbCNpmax-2ChG63b427L473MLpR9jdO2u0dG41ST5JnxC0jxEzdH0jnKnl4imLoAoNK57-6e6FUlGEsYovb-4ACZTvWpTgZDKkjIwkr9wmSW/s1600/IMG_0778.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="310" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvNnyTj4kgw2vktNZ-ARybQSwYgatZx3ROjbCNpmax-2ChG63b427L473MLpR9jdO2u0dG41ST5JnxC0jxEzdH0jnKnl4imLoAoNK57-6e6FUlGEsYovb-4ACZTvWpTgZDKkjIwkr9wmSW/s400/IMG_0778.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8115504785608421116.post-11114475461642906602012-10-17T08:51:00.001-06:002012-10-17T16:12:58.944-06:00ladyfingers = cookiesObediently following Sarah's lovely request, I took more videos of Maya in action. This time practicing tricks, including the new "cross your paws" thing we learned last week. I always think I sound silly in videos, but this is especially true when I am using my special silly voice that goes with especially silly new cues.<br />
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The ten second version, showing just the new trick:<br />
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Isn't she charming? I'm biased, I know, but Maya amuses me endlessly; we spend hours being ridiculously entertained by one another. I also made a longer video that shows more of what an actual trick playing/training session looks like around here, although I edited it for length and to try to cut out repetitions...Maya knows plenty more tricks, but the camera is a big distraction (for me especially), so she had to do the same ones over and over while I fumbled treats, miscued, and otherwise made her life difficult. Poor baby.<br />
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The distraction for her, by the way, was a neighbor hammering something
(or pounding things together in some way). It caught Maya's attention
several times, so I told her to go take a look. Sometimes, all she
needs is permission. <br />
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Of all the learned behaviors she exhibits, the one that gives me the biggest thrill is that Maya has finally learned to catch treats in midair! She really is brilliant.<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8115504785608421116.post-7564811037109473762012-10-09T13:35:00.000-06:002012-10-09T13:35:19.620-06:00training projects of the momentI am working on three things with Maya at the moment (okay, probably a million things at any given moment, but three things in formal training sessions).<br />
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<b>Door manners.</b><br />
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At present, our door routine looks like this: Maya auto-sits when Brian or I reach for the door handle. We open the door and look outside to make sure that a pack of coyotes is not carousing on our front lawn (hey, it happened once), then we open the storm door and release her from the sit. Maya goes through the door and then stands at the other end of the leash, looking up and down the street for interesting things. <br />
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I am working on changing that last part to an auto-redirect onto me (or Brian), where Maya will go through the front door, spin around, and wait at the step with her eyes fixed on us. It sounds fancy, like the sort of thing one does to show off how well-trained and compliant one's dog is, but it's really just one more thing to increase Maya's basic comfort...if leaving the house becomes a cue to focus her attention on me, then it becomes less of a cue for her to scan the environment and seek out things to worry about.<br />
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Here are two videos. I took the first before we started training, the second about five minutes later, after about five or six repetitions. Maya looks sort of subdued/apprehensive in both videos, which is entirely because she does not normally go through the front door with a camera right in her face (sorry kiddo!). <br />
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Before:<br />
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After: <br />
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<b>Being left in the car. </b><br />
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Just like it sounds, and definitely the most difficult of the three. Maya does not like to be left in the car, perhaps especially if she's still able to see us. There are multiple reasons for this, but the upshot is that she tends to experience more emotional distress in the car than in any other regular location.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirq3eShyphenhyphen8GBxzst5w4ZddAsNBEvG0GgyCWOP5SNR5H2pjTJCnRDg3vapjmXWLGRRdqffejxiPexGYZVyRIwLueG9UPgD21RpCv6zrO10YIfKtd1etUzPdD1_vRHdwNGkTLfyzA6Y52hN1U/s1600/IMG_0360.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirq3eShyphenhyphen8GBxzst5w4ZddAsNBEvG0GgyCWOP5SNR5H2pjTJCnRDg3vapjmXWLGRRdqffejxiPexGYZVyRIwLueG9UPgD21RpCv6zrO10YIfKtd1etUzPdD1_vRHdwNGkTLfyzA6Y52hN1U/s400/IMG_0360.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Have you noticed the anxious drool stains all along the top of this window? </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Those are mementos of all the times you abandoned me in here.</i></span></div>
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At the moment, I am simply focusing on teaching Maya to eat food in the car while I stand directly outside that smudgy window. Some of the food is handed to her, some of it comes from a <a href="http://www.premier.com/View.aspx?page=dogs/products/behavior/mannersminder/productdescription">Manners Minder</a>. Eventually, I'll start moving around and/or away, but for now, even eating a mouthful of breakfast takes Maya a significant amount of time and effort.<br />
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A more long-term solution may be to shop around for a crate that would fit into our back seat. I'd rather have Maya crated in the car anyway, but previous attempts proved that none of the brands we could find locally would both fit Maya and fit into our car. I may try again though, armed with a tape measure and ordering online.<br />
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<b>Crossing her paws.</b><br />
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Every dog needs a repertoire of silly dog tricks to help while away rainy afternoons. This one is very easy to teach, and Maya is already well on her way to having it solidly down. Her gangly legs are so cute.<br />
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And that's it for this week. Many weeks, we do no formal training whatsoever, but it's always more fun to have a project or two in the works.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8115504785608421116.post-47343708551655074832012-10-05T10:18:00.000-06:002012-10-05T10:18:27.276-06:00new things my dog can doThree things Maya has done recently that made me particularly happy:<br /><br />
One, Maya played catch with a stranger (okay, "stranger"). The "stranger" threw the ball, Maya caught or chased the ball, then she returned the ball to within about a dozen feet and nudged it toward the "stranger." Then I picked it up and tossed it the extra distance and we repeated. Maya did not growl, charge, cower, or startle, although she did a certain amount of impatient barking (which is fine...the goal is a happy dog, not a silent dog!). What she mostly did was wag from the shoulders back, and try to use her terrific powers of mental telepathy to make the person THROW THE BALL AGAIN.<br />
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Two, Maya greeted a (human) friend of hers while I was standing right there. The "friend" works at the kennel at which we board Maya, and they are well-acquainted there, but Maya greeted her with soft, wagging enthusiasm, even with me present and involved. The person even petted her, right on the head, and Maya was fine with it. This wasn't a big deal, it was just delightful and easy, and I love seeing my dog so friendly with anyone.<br />
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Three, Maya walked away with that friend, to stay a few days at the kennel, and barely spared me a backward glance. She was so comfortable and happy to be in this familiar and safe environment, and I felt a big squeeze of knowing I'd done this one thing exactly right. Our kennel is also our vet's office, and Maya gets so excited when we pull up that she yodels with glee; she can stay there when we travel, or when we have visitors and don't want to negotiate the dog stuff; she can get vet care; she is safe; she is happy. <br />
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Maya's ability to feel safe and comfortable in the wider world has improved out of all recognition. Her ability to interact with other people remains pretty limited, and depends considerably on context, as these examples probably illustrate. She keeps growing, learning, and trying to stretch her comfort zone; I think she is amazing.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8115504785608421116.post-80731906805633654122012-09-22T11:18:00.000-06:002012-09-22T12:31:54.859-06:00an apple a dayWe have two apple trees groaning in our front yard, and the neighbor's tree sometimes drops apples into our back yard. As we pick and process the fruit out front, excess or rotten apples get tossed onto the compost pile out back. Extra apples sit on counters, or in our fruit basket. All of which is to say that there are plenty of apples within the reach of a certain dog.<br />
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Maya does not touch or seemingly notice these apples. But if I pick an apple and carry it into the back yard, her eyes light up.<br />
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This is partly because an apple looks a lot like a B-A-L-L, and a little bit because fresh-picked apples taste best, but mostly it has to do with adding value. Adding/transferring value is one of those things that's useful to think about if you're trying to convince a dog (or other animal) that something is fun or delicious -- it's how we persuade them to enjoy their food more, or love being clipped onto a leash, or prefer to come racing back to you instead of pursuing a squirrel into the forest. Really, transferring value is just another term for dog training.<br />
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The big ways to transfer value have to do with classical and operant conditioning, and all that fun stuff. Those are important. But what amuses me are the funny little psychological tricks to make something more amazing.<br />
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For instance, most rats find anything forbidden to be incredibly desirable. The more you try to stop them from doing something, the more they want to do it. Obviously, this drives some rat owners totally bonkers (especially those with expensive carpets or accessible electrical cords). But it also means that you can make a very fun game out of pretending something is off-limits, and then getting the ratties more and more excited about trying to get it. Put a box on the floor, for instance, and try to keep all the ratties from going inside. We call this "the Pee Rag game," and, played fairly, it provides tremendous fun for all.<br />
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<a href="http://i8.photobucket.com/albums/a16/wildlyns/ratties/PeeRagextended.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://i8.photobucket.com/albums/a16/wildlyns/ratties/PeeRagextended.jpg" width="341" /></a></div>
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For both the rats and for Maya, my interest in a thing imparts greater value to it. Food in my hand is worth more than food on the ground. If I leave a tissue lying on the couch, a rat will probably make off with it eventually, but if I pick it up, I will attract the interest of all nearby rodents, all of them curious and acquisitive. <br />
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This is what is at work with the apples, which are common and boring until I pick one up. Once I've touched it, Maya wants it more than anything, and will eat it all up with tremendous, single-minded enthusiasm.<br />
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Besides finding this occasionally useful, I must confess that I find it flattering. Which is funny, of course, because it works both ways. I don't just mean that a sock on the floor interests me much less than a sock dangling from Maya's mouth (though there's that too), but that I spend an inordinate amount of time thinking about what she's doing, and why, and getting all excited about even quite trivial things (like apple eating). I can change Maya's opinion of apples just by picking them, but she changes my view of all kinds of things too. <br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8115504785608421116.post-73307841579176789602012-07-24T10:38:00.002-06:002012-07-24T10:38:16.731-06:00three years and a bitI missed Maya's gotcha day by more than a month. Oh well. Lately, we've had so many random celebrations that trying to hit a specific day would just be silly. For the record though, we've now had Maya in our lives for three years and a bit.<br />
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At this moment, right now, I don't think I've ever been happier with Maya. Next year, perhaps I'll read this and laugh, thinking how much better things have become. Time tends to give that perspective; right now, it's hard to imagine.<br />
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Maya remains a "hands off" dog, except to a select few. I have had Maya for over three years, and, in that time, I can count the number of people who've touched her on the fingers of both hands. Almost all of those people are professionals -- trainers, veterinarians and staff, and so on -- who are experienced in dealing with 'dogs with issues.' When I say that things are wonderful with Maya, I do not mean that every facet of life comes easily to her (or to me).<br />
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But ask me to tell you something wonderful about my dog and I can't stop talking. She is so smart. She tries so hard. She learns so fast, and thinks that learning is almost the most fun a dog can have. She is great company on a hike, or great company if I feel like lazing around the house. She is hilarious. She smells good. She has the best ears. She makes mornings feel brighter. She teaches me things about the world. She is a good friend. When I smile at her, her whole body lights up. When I sing to her, she dances.<br />
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This moment, right now, is a good one. <br />
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Maya has been especially silly lately, perhaps full of the fun of springtime. When she makes up games that involve such imaginative elements, and then slides her laughing eyes over to mine to make sure I'm watching, I can't help but feel she's making dog jokes. It makes me laugh. It also made me wonder if I could tell dog jokes back at her, so I pretended to find the shovel quite startling too. Maya instantly flung herself into another round of zoomies, face alight with glee. My success at canine comedy thrilled me to an embarrassing degree.<br />
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It is amazing I ever get any yard work done.<br />
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Other games of the day included tug with a piece of grass.<br />
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Putting things on Maya's head.</div>
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And rolling around waving our feet at one another.<br />
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It's hard to beat a lazy, sunny Sunday afternoon.<br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8115504785608421116.post-87566066471404426192012-04-17T18:00:00.000-06:002012-04-17T18:00:43.799-06:00Maya says helloThere is the less-approved method of greeting...<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihnc4WWG39aGSV7xWRgPUwUpgVdeF9e8l9twyYagSkXZkw4WiMHK54a8DEWZUrFVVYXbBXIl22F-iWY5-7v0YHCvlWDo4fjs-nf56y5cUiWxVhpshBLjdORJgbHvQ2hRR4V4mEmN9iJ5Rq/s1600/IMG_9139.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihnc4WWG39aGSV7xWRgPUwUpgVdeF9e8l9twyYagSkXZkw4WiMHK54a8DEWZUrFVVYXbBXIl22F-iWY5-7v0YHCvlWDo4fjs-nf56y5cUiWxVhpshBLjdORJgbHvQ2hRR4V4mEmN9iJ5Rq/s400/IMG_9139.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>...the greeting everyone can enjoy...<br />
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